


Narcissist Prime

by QueenNoPlot



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blushing, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, M/M, May Include Sarcasm, Optimus Prime says his own name during interface, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, REALLY Sticky, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Spike - Freeform, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, he did not know, old habits die hard, valve, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNoPlot/pseuds/QueenNoPlot
Summary: Waiting for Cybertron to heal before commencing any rebuilding leaves both Autobots and Decepticons with an overflow of free time. Idleness makes them irritable, but none have nearly as much tension flowing through and between them as the faction leaders. Reinforcing the newfound peace is going well.Then Optimus moans his name. His OWN name.Post-TLK.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116
Collections: Killers_Collections





	Narcissist Prime

**Author's Note:**

> I blame screenwriters who can’t go five seconds without recycling “My name is Optimus Prime.” It occurred to me that if OP has this bad of a habit of saying his own name, he probably says it during interface, albeit on very rare occasion.
> 
> Also look at that dumb title

When the two faction leaders stole off to a secluded area, the others assumed they were going to fight where they wouldn’t be encouraging their subordinates. They were partially correct. They simply underestimated how _sexual_ their bosses’ tension was.

There was only a brief grapple and tumble before Optimus had his legs spread and Megatron between them. Three overloads later and they’ve migrated off the ground to the last standing portion of a wall. Optimus is facing the wall, leaning forward with his hands on the surface, stance wide to give the mech behind him easy access to his valve. Megatron is leaning over him with his hands on the Prime’s waist, thrusting like an overexcited petrohound.

Vents and plating flared, the red and blue mech takes the ex-warlord’s spike with all the coherence of a knight breaking his millennia-long celibacy – never mind the climaxes he’s already been fragged through. Optimus moans and groans with no effort to control his volume, even crying out at unnaturally high octaves when he‘s gifted a bite or a particularly hard thrust. Megatron knows that’s the best sound to get out of Optimus, for it’s during those particular cries that his fingers scrape and dig into the surface at his mercy.

Picking up the vigorous pace, Megatron groans and digs his claws between the pelvic plates of his lover, receiving a burst of Cybertronian cut off by another moan.

“Say it,” he growls dangerously. “Say my name.”

Some garbled form of language spills out of Optimus as freely and messily as the mix of lubricant and transfluid flowing down his inner legs. Completely incomprehensible. Megatron grips him harder.

“What’s my name, you glitch?” He waits until he receives a higher-octave moan and halts entirely.

Optimus cries out in frustration and manages to swear as he attempts to get some friction on the spike buried in him. Megatron holds still and growls again, sliding his hand up the Prime’s frame to slip his fingers into his chassis subspace. The mech flinches at the sudden intrusion but moans when those fingers caress the sensitive mesh walls.

Megatron purrs into his audio. “Do you want to blow your bolts?”

“ _ Yes _ ! Please...!” Optimus tries to move himself on that thick silver spike but Megatron has him pinned against him with his other servo.

“Then let’s try this again. My name is...?”

“Optimus Prime...!”

There’s a long pause. Megatron shakes his helm and straightens, putting both hands back on the mech’s pelvic armor.

“What the _frag_ is wrong with you?” He vents, then rolls his optics and chuckles. “It’s close enough.”

Megatron pulls out and before he can receive a barrage of curses, he turns the Prime around, hauls him up by his aft, and pins him against the wall before dropping him back onto his spike.

“AH!” Optimus’ helm hits the wall with a resounding clang and his hands find purchase on the silver mech’s shoulders.

Then Megatron resumes thrusting, hard and fast, one hand on one of the smaller warframe’s legs as they wrap around him and pull him deeper. He sneaks his other hand to the Prime’s array and wraps it around his long, thick spike. Not massive compared to Megatron’s, but certainly an impressive size for his frame.

The sudden stroking of his neglected shaft is the final push toward his overload. Optimus’ valve constricts and he tips over the edge, shouting out as his legs squeeze Megatron’s waist, peds curling and back arching. A copious amount of lubricant gushes out of his valve, hips bucking as his spike follows suit with thick spurts of transfluid, and Megatron is still thrusting, shallow and vigorous until Optimus’ overload reaches a height of ecstasy that makes him  _ squirt_.

Megatron overloads to the sound of the sweetest keen of pleasure, landing the deepest thrust he can muster before releasing his load with a snarling groan. His reproductive fluid mixes with the overabundance of lubricant and the mixture is forced out around his spike, spilling down their arrays and his legs onto the ground. He has no doubt he’s ridden with red and blue paint transfers, and vice versa with silver. Clean up is going to be a glitch.

Nuzzling the Prime’s neck, he slowly pulls out, holding him up with his servos wrapped under his knee struts. The sound and feeling of so much lubricant and transfluid being freed from Optimus’ valve and splattering on the ground threatens to reactivate both of their interface drives.

The knight puts a hand on the side of Megatron’s faceplates and pulls him into a lazy kiss neither can resist moaning into. They hadn’t kissed at all earlier, and this one has the larger mech maneuvering them back to a “clean” area on the ground. Optimus pulls away as Megatron settles on his back, follows him until he’s horizontal with him, servos and knee struts on the ground, and then goes in for another lip-lock.

One hand on the heavy frame atop him and refusing to stop making out, Megatron blindly reaches for the mesh rag in his subspace. Directing the Prime’s hips up just enough to give access, he begins to rub at his array. Optimus shows his appreciation by sneaking his glossa into his lover’s mouth and moaning. He didn’t expect the regal mech to be into kissing with glossa and he has to sheathe his spike, lest it erect itself again. He notices a moment later that Optimus’ spike is put away as well. They must be in agreement, then.

As soon as he’s satisfied with how clean his valve is, Optimus sends the command for his panel to slide back over it. He then apprehends the rag from Megatron’s claws and returns the favor, disengaging from his mouth for a moment. He moves down just enough to get the sticky fluids off his legs and then returns to straddling his waist.

Once clean, Megatron closes his panel and Optimus tosses the dirtied rag aside. All their focus goes to making out, which quickly turns into a competition of who kisses better, with jabs and dares thrown between them over a private comm. channel. Eventually Megatron draws a tiny bit of energon and Optimus pulls away, his offended expression sexier than it should’ve been when he runs his glossa over the nick on his lower lip.

“What’s wrong, you narcissist?” Megatron smirks. “Giving up?”

“You know I am not a narcissist.”

“Well, only narcissists say their own name when they’re getting fragged into oblivion.”

The Prime’s faceplates heat up. “I...said my own name?”

Megatron nods. “You did. But you can just forget about it.”

“Why is that?”

“It was funny.”

**Author's Note:**

> My only social media account is Twitter (@QueenNoPlot), any others are impersonators!


End file.
